03-23-2022, 09:55 PM
[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]Zjarr had once again entered a trance-like state, his mind and focus consumed entirely by the hunt, this hungry scavenge for the materials he so desperately sought out and traveled an absurd distance to collect. Blind and deaf to all around him, he moved quickly, his paws scrambling to push away the items that he rejected in lieu of other, more prospective pieces that he felt could serve a greater use, bringing them up and personal to him for his brief yet interestingly thorough evaluations. Bite, scratch, smack, inspect, shove away into the satchel. It took an almost embarrassing amount of time for him to realize the blood flowing from his left paw, spilling onto the shimmering metal all around him.
The moment his eyes rested upon his paw, he was forcefully brought back to reality, as if thrown down to earth from the Heavens. The gash's sting reverberated throughout his entire body, throbbing in his paw and echoing in every other muscle within him. Fuck me, he thought. Must'a cut myself somehow. With an irritated click of his tongue, the husky tossed away his current object of interest and began to apply pressure with his other paw, pressing down as firmly as possible without outright crushing it. He could wash off the blood later, but right now it was a matter of stopping the bleeding in the first place, and unfortunately, he didn't have much on him to do so. It didn't appear to be a deep cut, not nearly enough to cause any form of long-term damage but just enough to tear him from his trance and take a break from his frantic scavenging. "Shit. It bites," he mused in an attempt to lighten the tension, offering a sideways glance at the tomcat that was still hovering behind him.
There was something new in the ground next to the cat, but Zjarr didn't realize it at first glance. He turned his head fully, narrowing his eyes at the mud puddle next to the feline. There were now scribbles in the soft patch of mud that he did not recall being there when he had first turned around and noticed the other's presence in the junkyard. Was he drawing? Or was it something else? "Y'doodlin' over there, bud?" the husky asked with a faint, brief chuckle. He looked down at his paw, whose bleeding was beginning to slow. Eh, good enough. Lifting his right paw, the husky made his way down from his current tower of junk and rust back onto the soft, muddy ground, curiously approaching the feline and his messy scribbles upon the floor of the junkyard.
"I can't talk, sorry. What are you doing? Junkyard has group in control." It wasn't a doodle — it was a message, one for Zjarr to read. "Oh, don't tell me you really live in this shithole, do ya? Shit, 'n' I don't see anyone else here, either." Was the junkyard even a remotely appropriate habitat for anyone? There was little shelter aside from the crevices between the piles of scrap and garbage, most of which far too small to fit anything larger than some kind of rodent in, it seemed. And even if there were people living here, what food could they possibly find other than the occasional insect or mouse? The husky's chocolate gaze scanned their surroundings just for good measure. Sure enough, no one else was there. So what the hell was this guy going on about?
"Look, I just need to, ah, borrow some things that nobody's gonna miss," the demon continued. "They'll have a better home with me. Promise! And besides, you're not gonna tell anyone, are ya?" He lifted his bloody paw to his mouth at that, pressing a digit to his lips in a mock shushing motion with a lighthearted smile. Maybe that was a little overkill to say to someone who literally could not speak, but it wasn't as if he ever took anything seriously. Hey, at least I'm right! he thought.
The moment his eyes rested upon his paw, he was forcefully brought back to reality, as if thrown down to earth from the Heavens. The gash's sting reverberated throughout his entire body, throbbing in his paw and echoing in every other muscle within him. Fuck me, he thought. Must'a cut myself somehow. With an irritated click of his tongue, the husky tossed away his current object of interest and began to apply pressure with his other paw, pressing down as firmly as possible without outright crushing it. He could wash off the blood later, but right now it was a matter of stopping the bleeding in the first place, and unfortunately, he didn't have much on him to do so. It didn't appear to be a deep cut, not nearly enough to cause any form of long-term damage but just enough to tear him from his trance and take a break from his frantic scavenging. "Shit. It bites," he mused in an attempt to lighten the tension, offering a sideways glance at the tomcat that was still hovering behind him.
There was something new in the ground next to the cat, but Zjarr didn't realize it at first glance. He turned his head fully, narrowing his eyes at the mud puddle next to the feline. There were now scribbles in the soft patch of mud that he did not recall being there when he had first turned around and noticed the other's presence in the junkyard. Was he drawing? Or was it something else? "Y'doodlin' over there, bud?" the husky asked with a faint, brief chuckle. He looked down at his paw, whose bleeding was beginning to slow. Eh, good enough. Lifting his right paw, the husky made his way down from his current tower of junk and rust back onto the soft, muddy ground, curiously approaching the feline and his messy scribbles upon the floor of the junkyard.
"I can't talk, sorry. What are you doing? Junkyard has group in control." It wasn't a doodle — it was a message, one for Zjarr to read. "Oh, don't tell me you really live in this shithole, do ya? Shit, 'n' I don't see anyone else here, either." Was the junkyard even a remotely appropriate habitat for anyone? There was little shelter aside from the crevices between the piles of scrap and garbage, most of which far too small to fit anything larger than some kind of rodent in, it seemed. And even if there were people living here, what food could they possibly find other than the occasional insect or mouse? The husky's chocolate gaze scanned their surroundings just for good measure. Sure enough, no one else was there. So what the hell was this guy going on about?
"Look, I just need to, ah, borrow some things that nobody's gonna miss," the demon continued. "They'll have a better home with me. Promise! And besides, you're not gonna tell anyone, are ya?" He lifted his bloody paw to his mouth at that, pressing a digit to his lips in a mock shushing motion with a lighthearted smile. Maybe that was a little overkill to say to someone who literally could not speak, but it wasn't as if he ever took anything seriously. Hey, at least I'm right! he thought.
[glow=#f24b00,2,300]cold cold cold[/glow] — ☼
✰ — I'M JUST A SOUL WHOSE INTENTIONS ARE GOOD
zjarr ignibus / tanglewood / hellcat / weapons dealer / plot